


Horticulture

by Skylark



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Dreamsharing, F/F, Flowers, POV Second Person, Post-S2E4, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-12
Updated: 2017-10-12
Packaged: 2019-01-16 08:58:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12339543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skylark/pseuds/Skylark
Summary: "Does this mean I should take up gardening?" —Pidge,Greening the Cube





	Horticulture

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aeiouna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aeiouna/gifts).



> The original prompts as I understood them were "One character teaches the other about something traditionally feminine" and "Pidge and Allura finish a conversation about similarities," with a dash of "starting to realize their deepening feelings for each other." I hope it's as fun to read as it was to write!
> 
> Ryner is the Olkarian who teaches Pidge how to bond with the green lion. Thank you to my beta, [petaldancing](http://archiveofourown.org/users/petaldancing).

You fight your way to consciousness, hands out to push through dreams the way children in a long-ago story pushed through racks of old coats. Then you lie in the dark and stare at the ceiling, trying to remember what you were dreaming about.

You don't recall much—mountains and lilies. There's a longing in your chest that's knife-like, and you keep your hands stretched out above you until the bloodless tingling in your fingertips drowns it out.

Rolling onto your side, the clock reads _0327_ and you know there's no way you're getting back to sleep now. You roll out of bed, the shock of the cold metal floor beneath your feet as familiar as it is uncomfortable, and swipe your glasses from the side table. They don't sharpen your vision at all, but the weight of them on your nose feels grounding.

It's been...different, since you bonded more deeply with your lion. Sometimes you get flashes of insight about people rather than machines. You remember Ryner's voice saying _We're all made up of the same cosmic dust_ and wonder if your brain's been rewired somehow, more in-tune with the universe or something. The low hum of the ship soothes your lingering unease as you walk through the halls on autopilot, letting your feet take you to the same place your late night walks always end up.

Dream sharing is new, though. You remember looking up into the face of a stranger and thinking _Father,_ remember the foreign laugh that spilled from your mouth. You remember the sweet scent of the flower field that surrounded you, thick enough to taste, almost enough to wash away the lump of unshed tears in your throat.

You give your lion a friendly pat on her foreleg before you hop into the cockpit and curl into a thoughtful ball in the pilot's seat, eyes roving over the screens of data. Everything is orderly and neat— _all systems go_ —and you hum, satisfied.

"You're the green lion," you say aloud. "Does that mean you can make stuff?"

Confusion's all you feel in response. You send back an image of the black cube hanging in the sky until it erupted all over with vines. There's a moment of realization, and then consideration. She can't _make_ things, exactly, she explains. Not out of nothing, anyway—

 _Of course not,_ you reply in a huff. _The Law of the Conservation of Mass still_ exists _, you know_ —

—But she can help you rearrange molecules in new ways, she continues eagerly. She can take your new understanding of the universe and make it manifest.

You hum, considering. Then, you describe what you saw in the dream—a pink-purple flower, lily-like in structure, with petals as fragile as a dandelion puff. "It produces spores," you explain, gesticulating with your hands, "and in the summer it has berries, you can use them to make juice—"

There's a wave of sadness from the green lion, then, that makes you pause. _Juniberries,_ the green lion says. _The Altean flower. You can't make things you have no experience with, Paladin. Do you know the weight of it in your hand? Do you know how it lives and dies?_

"Well—no," you say. You fold your arms and slouch deeper into yourself, mouth twisting with annoyance. "All right, fine. What about an Earth flower? Can you help me make that?"

You don't even bother with words—you just send the idea of it to your lion, the memory of holding a bouquet of them in your hands when you celebrated your brother's acceptance to the Garrison. She brightens at once; _Yes!_ she says, _That is quite manageable._

It takes a few tries, and a few hours. It's not like you spend every day using willpower and alien technology to change the fundamental nature of an object. But eventually you have what you want—a handful of pink-tinged calla lilies, their petals soft against your fingertips. Their fragrance is stronger than you remember, but it's a feature, you decide, not a bug.

"Thanks a million," you say, pleased by your handiwork.

 _It was fun!_ she replies. _What is it for?_

The question makes a blush rise to your cheeks, and you don't answer.

It's a much more reasonable hour of the morning when you creep back to the living quarters, and the hallway lights are bright. You find yourself sneaking through the hallways, flowers hidden behind your back, hoping you won't find anyone and have to survive a barrage of questions; but you encounter no one. It's the perfect sweet spot between late enough for the early risers to already have left their rooms, and early enough for the late sleepers to still be in bed.

You find Allura's door and scan the hallway, making sure it's empty. Then you kneel down, ready to leave your gift on the ground and retreat—and the door opens before you, revealing Allura in her nightgown.

"Pidge?" she says. "I—I knew you were out here, somehow."

You scramble upright, the flowers bobbing in your clammy grip. "Um! Allura! Didn't expect to see you here, which I guess is silly because it's your room, you know, and there's no reason why you wouldn't be inside of it, but I really thought at this time of the morning you'd be at breakfast or talking strategy with Coran or—"

Allura's eyebrows rise towards her hairline throughout your babbling until she catches sight of the flowers in your hand, and her expression drops. You feel it again, the sharp-edged loneliness, and the sudden pain of it stills your tongue. 

"Where did you get those?" she asks slowly.

"T-they're an Earth flower," you stammer. "I, um. Made them for you."

When she meets your gaze again, it's searching. She takes them from you and twirls a stem in her long fingers. "I think you'd better come inside," she says.

It's your first time inside her private quarters. It's much more spacious than the rooms the paladins use, but then again, she is royalty. She takes a seat on a low couch and, since there's nowhere else, you sit beside her.

Before she can ask you anything, the words are tumbling out of you. You've never been good with nerves. "I saw your dream last night," you tell her. "About the field of juniberries and, um, your father. I'm sorry that I invaded your privacy but I didn't mean to, it just happened. Since we left Olkarion things have been kind of weird for me, I can't really explain it but—the dream sharing is new." Your voice softens. "So, I'm sorry." 

Allura is quiet, looking at the cluster of flowers in her hands. "You said these are an Earth flower." Her voice is careful, and she won't look at you. "What is their name?"

"Calla lily," you say. "On Earth, you see them on special occasions. Usually they're white, but they can be pink like these too. They have berries, like the Altean flower does, but these are poisonous. I know it's not the same."

Allura shakes her head. "Planet Altea is gone," she says. "I cherish the past, but I would like to devote myself to looking forward to new experiences, like this one. Calla lily." Her accent wraps around the name, lingering over it. "Why did you bring me these beautiful flowers? Did you mean it as an apology for seeing my dreams?"

Pidge sneaks a glance at her profile, beautiful and a little sad. The lilies match the pink of the markings on her cheeks. "Not exactly," you mumble. "I...I didn't like that you were facing something like that, all alone."

Allura turns to you. You can't take your eyes away from her face, the bright blue of her eyes, the thin line of her mouth as she smiles at you. "But I'm not alone, am I, Pidge?" she says. "It's as I told you many months ago. We both know what it's like to lose a father."

Before Olkarion, you would have corrected her; now you understand what she means, rather than what she says. She's not the only one who wakes up with a knife in her heart. She's not the only one who has looked out into space and weighed the thought: _My father is dead._

You wonder—would you have been able to share the dream of anyone else? You love your teammates and you know they feel the same way, but none of them have ever turned your way and seen all of you, brave and frightened and brilliant and small. None of them have ever stared at you with the keen understanding in Allura's gaze right now.

You want so badly to touch her, to close your hands over hers and help her bear the slight weight of the lilies she carries, but you don't.

"You told me once that I could talk to you," you say quietly. "I should have said—you can talk to me too, Allura. About anything." You huff out a laugh, but it's humorless. "Like you said, we have a lot in common."

The smile she gives you in return is small, but warm. "I will remember that," she says. "As I will remember this gift that you have given me. Thank you, Pidge."

"Yeah," you say, ducking to hide the foolish, nervous smile on your face. "You're welcome."


End file.
